Screenwriter and Mom? Nope. Pit Bull Blogger

After voting last Tuesday, I walked Tommy around Caltech and pondered what to eat (food often occupies my thoughts on these lengthy walks).

“Mmmm... That pint of vanilla Haagen-Dazs in the freezer would go great with warm apple pie.”

I turned down California Blvd toward Pie ‘n Burger.

I don’t like leaving Tommy outside tied to a post, but I’ll do it when I'm desperate and I’m comfortable with the neighborhood; a window gives me a line of sight to keep an eye on him; and it will only take a few minutes. Fortunately Pie ‘n Burger fit the bill.

While I discussed pie options with the waitress, Tommy waited patiently outside. (Well, actually, at first he was quite impatient: he barked and rose up in protest—an unnerving sight for the other patrons—but then he settled down.) I bought pieces of apple and boysenberry, retrieved Tommy, and then headed up Lake to make a loop back to my car.

I peeked inside Magnolia and felt a pang of longing when I saw a good crowd inside. A couple of women in strappy dresses sipped cocktails at the bar, and, I imagined, flirted with interesting men. The vibe looked relaxed, just my kind of place. I've lived in Pasadena over two years but I've never been there. Wouldn't it be nice to be sitting at that bar all squeaky clean, wearing a summer dress and heels? Drinking a ginger-cucumber-watermelon martini and hanging out with my own species, preferably of the opposite sex?

In my worn sneakers and baggy hiking pants, I carried my bag of pie up Lake, the pit bull at my side.

I used to aspire to be a screenwriter, to get married and have a baby. Instead I ended up single without kids, writing a blog about my rescued pit bull. How’d that happen?

Tommy the Zen Master

For a couple of weeks in May, I was overwhelmed with grief over the Gulf oil tragedy, breaking out in tears every time I saw one of those heart-wrenching pictures of an oil-soaked bird. I spent my days poring over information on the web trying to understand the politics that led to the catastrophe and that played out in its wake. The whole thing was, and still is, unfathomably depressing. I couldn’t think of much else, so when I was invited to a party over Memorial Day weekend, I welcomed the chance to get out of the house and out of my head.

The party was great fun but on the drive home we started talking about the devastation in the Gulf, and by the time we pulled up in front of my house I was in a dark place again. But my spirits lifted slightly at the thought of Tommy greeting me in the kitchen. He didn’t disappoint.

His pit-bull tail whacked the kitchen table leg with a steady beat; he smothered my bare legs with sloppy kisses; and then, after performing the perfect downward-facing dog, he crawled back into bed.

He cracks me up.

Tommy, the lucky dog, doesn’t know anything about the tragedy in the Gulf. He just knows how good it is to be alive, to be sleeping on his dog bed in the kitchen, to see and smell his human walking through the door, to be rewarded with a a chicken jerky. Oh, what joy!

It’s a gift to see the world through his eyes, if only for a moment.

It’s Not a Muzzle; it’s a Snoot Loop

Minoru Drive gives off a sense of hyperrealism with its affluent homes, manicured lawns, and the San Gabriels as a backdrop. It feels like a film set on any day but today it was for real.

I got to the street just as the goofy cop in his Pasadena car led a procession of film trucks. As he drove by, I could hear him say "So you found your way over here?"

People buzzed around like bees, some carrying plates of food from craft services. I walked Tommy in the middle of the street, lined on each side by production trucks.

“Does he bite?”

At first I wasn’t sure why he was asking. That’s a common question when someone wants to pet Tommy, but this guy was walking in the other direction. Then I realized why he asked.

“It’s not a muzzle; it’s a Snoot Loop,” I called after him.

I can't tell you how many times I've said those two sentences together. I went on to explain it helps to control his pulling and it’s similar to halters used on horses.

The next day I was buying lunch at Connal’s on Washington Blvd., Tommy by my side, and I got asked the same exact question.

“It’s not a muzzle; it’s a Snoot Loop,” I said again. And this time I remembered what my friend Kim suggested I say.

“He can still bite with this on.”

I laughed as I said it so it wasn’t taken as a threat. One day I’ll write about all the other things Tommy can do while wearing the Snoot Loop.

So, I never did see Will Ferrell. Or Steve Carell. But I did see the back of Bubble Boy's Dad's head. How's that for a celebrity sighting?

Will Ferrell, Steve Carell, and Bubble Boy’s Dad

The no-parking signs had lined the streets for days alluding to the production’s arrival. I tied Tommy to the tree in the front yard so the kitties and I could have some peace and he could lounge in the sun and welcome the crew. Every 20 minutes or so I went outside—to rub his tummy; to throw around a tennis ball; or to play tug of war with his favorite toy, the Jolly Ball Romp-N-Roll.

A security guy, who shuffled around some traffic cones, said it was a Will Ferrell movie, which only added to my excitement. But the trucks never came. After work Tommy and I set out around the neighborhood to find them, just for kicks. Film productions add a little dazzle to these otherwise hum-drum suburban streets.

We found some action on North Hill Avenue, just above New York Drive. I caught sight of a guy sitting on what looked like a Hollywood tour bus with the open seats on top, except this was the size of a van and there was only one seat. Cameras, crew, and equipment buzzed around him. A Pasadena cop—bald, about 6'4" with a menacing look—approached. I thought he was going to tell me to get lost but he was having fun.

"No, that wasn't Will Ferrell. That was some guy I’ve seen a million times but I can't remember his name," he said. "Bubble Boy’s Dad. That’s who that was."

I said I’d never seen Bubble Boy, so I’d have to look on imdb.com.

"Bubble Boy’s Dad. That's who that was."

He got a big kick out of saying it, and I have to say it made me laugh, too.

The security guy had led me astray. The goofy cop set me straight: The film starred Steve Carell, not Will Ferrell, and was the same production that had been filming for weeks on Minoru Drive. Tommy and I headed in that direction.

Living in the Zeitgeist with the Pit Bull Mix Named Tommy Lee Jones

When Michael Vick’s Bad Newz dogs hit People magazine, I felt as if I were in the zeitgeist: My life had recently become all about pit bulls. I’d rescued Tommy off the L.A. streets and changed my life to keep him just a few weeks prior. I’d lived in a studio apartment with two girl cats when I found him. I searched on craigslist for a house that allowed dogs and soon fell in love with a duplex in Pasadena near the foothills of the San Gabriels. I immediately brought a deposit check to the landlord and signed the lease, then went back to take another look at the house. In the bedroom a French door covered by a curtain opened to steps that led to a small, shared yard. I opened the curtain, and there on the steps staring up at me sat a jet black pit bull with cropped ears. He scared the life out of me, despite the fact I was moving a pit bull into this house in just a few weeks. I thought, “I must have some weird karma to work out with pit bulls.” Later I learned his name was Blaze and he was a total sweetheart.

Kennel cough, the "gentle" leader, Led Zeppelin

I've been meaning to write for weeks. So much has happened, I don't know where to begin. I guess I'll just start with today and fill in the gaps as I go along.

So, Tommy Lee Jones's new thing is to stop in the middle of our walk and not budge. Today he rolled onto his back on the grass and I couldn't get him up. It took a lot of coaxing and bribing with treats to get him back on his feet. I'm not sure what's up exactly. Is it that he's tired of the "gentle" leader? I know he hates that thing. Is it that he's sick? He was coughing last night as if he had something stuck in his throat. I read that is one of the symptoms of kennel cough, so tomorrow I'm taking him to the vet.

This evening he was dragging so we took it nice and slow. But he seemed to get a second wind as we journeyed up Sinaloa onto Porter Ave. Instead of going all the way up to Loma Vista or Alta Loma or whatever it's called, the street that begins just after the cool mid-century modern pink house, we took a left to check out a new route. We ended up on a nice street (well, they're all nice around here) with a calm energy. A guy in a doorway yelled to someone in a car in his driveway, "we'll see you Saturday night then." He lingered in the doorway as the car drove off and we walked by across the street. I looked over at him and he seemed to be staring at us. Maybe he was handsome (the light wasn't good enough for me to tell). Maybe he liked pit bulls or women who liked pit bulls. Maybe he liked what he saw. I tried not to stare but kept looking back. The last moment I looked there was a woman in the doorway with him, staring at us. Suddenly what had appeared to be an interested curiosity turned to disdain. Suddenly I felt they hated pit bulls and hated me for walking one on their lovely, calm, bourgeois block.

We kept walking, leaving the weird energy behind us. But Tommy chose this moment to stop. He was alert, listening, focused on something. I tried to nudge him along but he resisted. That damn gentle leader did not seem so gentle as I pulled and he resisted. It stretched out on his snout. He snorted. I was getting pissed and pulled harder. I took out the other leash and attached it to his purple collar. Now I pulled both the regular leash and the gentle leader leash. He wouldn't budge. A man jogged down his driveway and turned up the street coming toward us. He was carrying a small radio listening to a loud Led Zeppelin song. Tommy was fixated as the guy ran by. He was probably in his 50s, wearing a tie-dye purple T-shirt. Now Tommy wanted to run with him. At some point I'd removed the gentle leader so now I was just using the regular leash, and he was dragging me. I pulled up on the collar to slow him down but I couldn't stop his obsessive surge toward the runner dude. Listening to Led Zeppelin from a hand-held radio wearing a tie-dye purple T-shirt.

Last night I saw the Eels and they had belted out a Led Zeppelin song. Wish I could remember which one it was.

I'm so tired. I'm exhausted all the time. Life with Tommy Lee Jones is all-consuming. But I really want to keep up this blog thing to capture the insanity of my life with him and to figure out whether we are meant to be together as human and dog companions, or if there's another soul out there who would be a better fit for Tommy Lee Jones.

We turned off Holliston onto Atchison. Approaching Hill, I heard music coming from a house. At first I thought it was some kids practicing drums in the garage, but then I realized it was Jimi Hendrix.

It's 11:16 p.m. We have to wake up early to take our marathon walk and then go to the vet to get this "kennel cough" checked out. Tommy hasn't coughed all day but still - must go to vet. He's a money pit, I tell you.

That pun was not intended.